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Her vision blurred for a moment. The slight emphasis he put on flogging, orgasm, and fucking fried her brain cells. He said it so simply, so easily, Archie realized he was confident of his ability to complete each task to maximum capacity.
Shoving a vision of Jasper looking sad and forlorn from her head, she met Atticus’ gaze straight on. This was her decision, and hers alone. “Okay. Okay, but I…I don’t want to rub it in Jasper’s face.”
Her new Dominant scowled. “Remember what I said about your attention on me, Anarchy? If I’m fucking you, you won’t remember who sees us or what’s going on around you. And if Jasper gets an eyeful, he’s a grown man who’s made his choice. What he does, what he thinks, is not your concern.”
“What if he…what if he gets mad and tries to hurt you?”
His mouth curved, lethally sharp. “There are very few people who have balls made of steel, sweetheart, and that’s what’s needed to take on the likes of me. Even if Jasper decides he’s got those balls, he’s gonna have to be quick to get a lick in. And,” he added, leaning close to tuck a lock of hair around her ear, “should that happen, it will only be in our favor. Jasper only loses his shit when his emotions are involved. It’s rare, but we’ll know if we hit the mark.”
Did he know how scary he was? She wondered, then scoffed at her silly question. Of course, he did. Atticus was a man so finely in tune with himself, he probably knew how many breaths he took in any given minute. “Safewords apply?”
“Any Dominant who ignores a sub’s safeword is thrown out without a second chance, Anarchy. There’ll never be a time when yours is not available to you.”
Good answer, Master Atticus. Mollified by his immediate response, Anarchy relaxed and gave him another inch of trust. “Guess that’s everything covered then,” she said brightly, silently praying he wouldn’t remember about—
“Not quite, sweetheart.”
“Shit,” she hissed under her breath, then blushed when he chuckled.
“Yeah, it’s a difficult decision to make for an anal virgin.” Atticus lifted his eyebrows when she choked on a sharp inhale, then tapped a finger on her glass of water. “Might want to take a sip to help swallow your shock, sweetheart. Now, I can’t promise you there won’t be some pain, but if you trust me, I can make you see stars.”
Her hands trembled as she lifted the glass, drank deeply. She hadn’t realized her throat was parched until the first swallow of cool water eased it. Blushing redder than a rose in full bloom, she avoided his eyes. “Do I need to ask how you know that?”
“Most women either love anal or hate it with a passion. You, sweetheart, aren’t threatening me with bodily harm if I touch that perfect ass, so you don’t hate it. But you’re not quivering in anticipation at the thought of a big, thick cock stretching you wide, either.” His voice lowered an octave, which was impressive considering he had a naturally deep and resonant tone anyway. “You’ve got that scared of the unknown expression, mixed with a touch of intrigue.”
For God’s sake, was she forever going to be cursed with a face Dominants could read easier than a book? Maybe she should work on improving her poker face for moments like these. “I suppose…if we’re doing this…we might as well go the whole distance, right?”
“You like to please, don’t you?” he commented with a shake of his head, then plucked the glass from her shaking hands and set it aside. “Your body is your own, Anarchy. I’ll take command of it when you relinquish control, do as I please with it within the boundaries of your limits, but I will always respect it and you. There is no suppose. There’s yes and no, and I’ll abide by your choice.”
Before she could answer, a sharp, piercing scream echoed from one of the distant play areas, followed by a pained wail. Around them, the chatter faded for a few seconds and someone in one of the neighboring booths commented, “That damned sadist is raising the roof again.”
It wasn’t uncommon for noise to travel through the interjoined barns, especially if the connecting doors along the way were open for the sounds to spread, but Anarchy knew, deep down, who was screaming and why.
Atticus squeezed her hand gently. “We’re not thinking of him tonight, sweetheart. Tonight is about you and giving you what you need.”
Suddenly furious with Jasper, hating the love brimming inside her, Anarchy cast aside all her doubts. If Jasper could hand her over to Atticus without a second thought and then go torture another submissive ten minutes later…well, fuck him. And not in the nice way.
Ignoring the ugly crack of her heart breaking all over again, Anarchy turned her hand over beneath Atticus’s and linked her fingers with his. Her voice wavered as she said, “Master Atticus, I’d like you to fuck me.” Some of her resolve slipped as she added, “However, wherever you want.”
“Sweetheart, you continue to astound me. Come with me.” Fingers still intertwined with hers, Atticus rose and encouraged her to follow. He loomed over her, patiently letting her take a moment to gather her courage.
Her legs felt weak when she shuffled her butt around the seat to the edge of the booth, trembled as she stood in Atticus’ shadow. His huge hand was hot as Hades, feeding heat into the numbing chill of hers.
There were a lot of funny looks aimed their way as Archie followed the giant through the social area toward the walkway. Most seemed surprised and curious. She couldn’t blame them—everyone was accustomed to seeing her fawning over the sadist, dogging his heels wherever he went and serving him like a good little submissive.
Anarchy wanted to scream at them, tell them it wasn’t her fault she wasn’t good enough, strong enough, sub enough for Jasper. That this wasn’t her idea.
Instead, she handed control over to Atticus and let him lead her wherever this path in her life was heading.
*
Thirty minutes after his scene with Tiffany began, Jasper put an end to it. His performance was definitely lackluster—not that the sub complained. He shouldn’t have even considered doing a scene after the events of tonight; his focus was off, and his temper—usually so contained—had started to show in the welts on the redhead’s ass.
Again, not that she complained.
As he carefully rubbed aloe cream into the hot red stripes adorning her pale rear, Jasper closed his eyes and berated himself for being an idiot. Wasn’t this the exact reason he’d cut Anarchy loose? The fear he would harm her beyond her limits?
Tiffany was a screamer, yes, whether in vocal appreciation of the pain he gave her or in orgasm. It was the kind of submissive she was. But that last strike of the cane, one powered by angry thoughts of Atticus’s hands fondling Anarchy’s supple body, had wrenched a scream of agony from Tiffany he’d never heard before.
